Traitor of Dreams
by Kittie Darkhart
Summary: The taste of triumph is truly good to those who enjoy it, or rather, remember it. So is the case with Sarah. What will she do when her alleged dream is truly real and an angered goblin king desires retribution?
1. Perceptions of an Interlude

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Labyrinth, characters, places, etc. All rights belong to Jim Henson and their respected owners. _

Shattered Reality

Chapter One

Snow. Oh, how it falls like liquid drops of icy peppermint.  Its indolent touch upon flesh never failing to send electrifying chills down one's spine. Love was no different. With its constant foray of burning passion--the unending desire for utter completion. Yes, love was an extraordinary element to the human spirit. Pity, it was merely an allusion.

Poets and novelists alike wrote upon the overrated subject. Like an intoxicating drug, it drove them into a distraught insanity, which usually ended their esteemed career. However, that's what usually kept their names from fading into distant memory. 

Where would the world be without Poe's depressive poetry of a woman who drowned in the sea, or Van Gough's Starry, Starry, Night spouting it's lovesick memorandums of its creator? The truth was, some things could--would never be forgotten. _They_ would stand the test of time. It was rather unfortunate childhood innocence could not. Or at least, to someone who believed in seeing the world through rose-coloured glasses.

****

Her sable hair fell into her eyes once more--blocking her sight from reading the extensive novel she had been assigned. Her ivory hands furiously swept away the wayward strands as her hazel gaze concentrated upon the printed words. 

Truly, one would find Conrad's notion of civilization versus primal passion somewhat appealing. The real-world conjectures were quite convincing. However, to the mind of someone who believed in fairy stories as a child, it would be rather hard to digest simple notions of humanity holding their own heart or darkness. 

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the young woman slammed the book shut and turned her eyes from it. Her antagonized glare settled to the window, or rather, the sight beyond it. Dull hazel seemed to brighten when ashen flakes cascaded against the windowsill. Snow. God, it would never cease to amaze her how captivating the tiny flakes could entrance her mind. It seemed as if her heartache and desperation disappeared from its frosty presence.

It was the only comfort she had from the impending doom of finals. And to think, she happily dreamt of college just a few years before. A sardonic chuckle erupted from her when she thought of her high school graduation. Gods, it seemed like yesterday she was telling everyone she would always keep in touch. However, the inevitability of obtaining a life seemed to strain her promises. She could not even remember some of their phone numbers.

Of course, that was the regret of moving away from her quaint New England town. The university of Vermont seemed to promise much for a girl of her criteria. However, she did not desire to focus all of her time in books. Her life, or rather, future was in the field of drama. 

Ever since her mother's image was plastered upon a Playbill cover, she had always dreamt to follow in her mother's footsteps and be the greatest actress that graced the stage. Nevertheless, she still had a ways to go before reaching that goal. Her aspirations were quite high, and could be shattered with rejection, but she would not give up. Not now, not ever. Sarah Williams was not one to turn tail and cower from an obstacle. Of course, her dreary interludes with Twentieth Century writers could be eluded.   

A light smile traced her rosy lips when she thought of a nice, soothing cup of lemon tea. Yes, a little break from Mister Conrad would suffice--and at least calm her stressed mind. Really, finals right before the holidays were mainly a ploy to keep college students from enjoying themselves. Naturally, she wasn't one to complain. 

Life back home was relaxing, but somewhat taxing. Her old room seemed so…enclosed. Almost, like a coffin. It was a subtle phobia she acquired, like many were prone to be frightened of spiders. 

Perhaps, it was the wide proximity of the auditorium or her classes that kept her to open spaces. In her soul, she knew whatever she done it would be in a wide-ranged opening. Odin hath mercy if she were to ever work within telecommunications. A cubicle worker's profession almost made her shudder.

Shaking her thoughts aside, Sarah set a kettle of water one the boil. The snow was pounding furiously against her window, like that stormy night… She _refused_ to think of that night. It was merely a dream anyway. A gilded laugh echoed throughout the room--showing her silly moment's belief in an adolescent's fantasy.

Really, goblins, dwarves, and even fairies truly existed! What a splendid imagination she had as a fifteen-year-old! It was almost irrelevant that she still remembered that ludicrous dream! Gods, the very thought of wishing away younger brother to some goblin city certainly teetered on the edge of being deemed insane.

Her smile faded for a moment as she thought upon the lavish memory. It seemed so real though--almost, too real. And that somewhat frightened her. Well, maybe not frighten, but it definitely unnerved her. Besides, she had put away childish thoughts of her in an alleged _Fantasy World_. Even, to the point of boxing up everything that held relevance of being imaginative.

Her life somewhat changed after the strange dream. She had grown more serious and socialistic. She went out more and did things with others. Her time with reading about faraway castles, damsels in distress, and handsome knights were over. It was vital that she focused upon something tangible and existent. And, not even goblin kings promising ultimate desires would alter her choice.

The metallic kettle's sharp whistle brought her to her senses. Pouring a cup of the hot liquid into cobalt mug, she seated herself upon an emerald sofa and thought more of her troubles. 

The rich citric aroma filled her senses with an almost calming effect. She could sit here all evening contemplating over how soothing her tea was. Yes, she inwardly admitted it was a little silly, trivial even. But, it was better to ogle over something real than some child's story.

Her hazel eyes glanced at the red liquid with semi-indifference. There had to be more to life than hauling ass around classes and working all of the time. Christmas vacation looked even more promising by the minute. However, staying a few weeks with her family seemed a bit much. Perhaps, she could shorten it down to two. 

It wasn't that she did not wish to spend time with them--it was just a bit tiring. Toby, being little terror he was, always followed her like a second shadow. Her father and stepmother were always inquiring about her studies and college life. Karen seemed to be more interested in her dating agenda.

She had to admit, she had finally began to tolerate her stepmother's actions. Even--actually like her. It was somewhat hard at first to accept her father's marriage, but over time, she finally tolerated Karen. Sometimes, they even shared a few moments at playing a semi-role of mother and daughter. However, Karen could never replace her mother. No one could.

It had been quite some time since she thought of her mother. She had been twelve when her parents finally decided to divorce. The abrupt separation had somewhat addled her. She missed her aspiring mother and sometimes wondered if she was happy with leaving them. It had been years since she called, much less, wrote a letter. And that pained her. How could the woman that played mother for a little over a decade leave her? Was she really such an arrogant child? Or, was she merely an insignificant aspect? 

It didn't matter. If her mother desired to call her, fine. If not, she still had her father to love. Besides, it would be nice to see him again. She truly missed his bright smile and comforting words. It had at first, been hard just being father and daughter. But, after simple routine, they were closer than they were ever before.

Yes, let the finals come! She would be ready to end this semester of suffering and finally relax. Sarah glanced once more at the icy window. The winter evenings were growing short and darkness always crept in before anyone expected it. The white flakes seemed brighter, almost glowing. Strange.

Getting up, she walked over to the cool glass and strained her eyes to see if she had imagined anything. Her breath almost caught in her throat when she seen something crashing against her window. A stifled gasp escaped her dry lips when she heard a dull thud upon the sill. Sarah gathered her courage and looked to see if anything damaged the glass.

Her eyes slightly widened to see a massive bird fly from the window. It was white--almost matching the colour of the falling snow. The wingspan was that of a lager bird, most likely an owl. But of course, that was just a second's glimpse of it before it disappeared within the veiled night. 

Sarah mentally scolded herself. To think, her fright was merely derived from an owl, or whatever it was. Gods, she was beginning to lose her edge, and such a shame too. Really, being frightened from a bird crashing against a window would certainly traumatize her for the rest her days. She might as well start believing in fairies again. They certainly, would be held highly in the world of sense and reason.

Her brief sarcasm was put on hold when the phone rang. Rolling her eyes, she treaded over the wooden floor--making creaking sounds as she went--and finally thrust the receiver to her ear. 

"Hello?" She asked in a tired sigh.

Her frown melted to a smile when she heard her father answer. It was nice to hear a familiar voice after having a heart failure! Surely, her father would bring her out of her senseless shock with comforting news over the family and holiday plans.

"That's great, Dad. I'll be there after finals are over. I cannot wait to see you guys and finally take a break from this headache! Yeah, all classes are going good. I mainly dread my Calculus exam! Who would've thought I could not excel in one subject? Ah well." She chortled before continuing. "Yeah, can I speak to Toby? I hear him practically begging to talk!"

Sarah giggled when her father reluctantly gave the phone to the pleading four-year-old. "Sarah, when are you coming home? I miss you!" He whined in an angelic tone.

The plea could not help but tug at her heart. Surely, they had grown closer after her elusive fantasy. How strange it had only been four years ago that she had abruptly dropped that silly obsession. Finding her voice, she answered, "Toby, I'll be home after my finals, all right? I promise the moment I get there, we'll do something!"

"Sarah! Sarah! I got to tell you something!" Toby hesitated a moment. "I found this red book, I think it was yours. Mommy read it to me since we read everything in my shelf. It's a great story! Why didn't you ever read it to me?"

"Hey, slow down! What book are you talking about?"

"The Lab-something. I like it! It's got goblins in it and everything!"

Sarah chuckled. "Oh, you mean The Labyrinth?" 

"Yeah, that! It's a great book! Will you read it to me when you get here? Mommy said I'm driving her crazy! I only got her to read it three times!" He said, placing three fingers to the phone.

"I don't know," she giggled under an uncertain tone. "I mean, you've drove your mother crazy with it! Maybe I should not read it…"

"Sarah! Please? If you don't, I ask the goblins to send you away!"

She snorted from his childish threat. Sending her away by goblins! Really! Poor Karen must have been driven crazy if Toby was _this_ enthused with the book. Somehow, it did not seem like a good idea to tease about it. Of course, that was merely her wonderful imagination from years past kicking in. Shaking her dark mane, she teased, "Yeah? Why don't you try it? I doubt you would want them to take your sister away forever!"

"Yeah right, Sarah! You know…I wished the goblins _did_ take you away!"

"Toby!" Karen yelled in the background. "Apologize to Sarah!"

"I'm sorry, Sarah! I was only kiddin'!" 

Silence.

"Sarah?" Toby asked with uncertainty. "Are you there?"

"No! The goblins got her!" She spoke in a muffled whisper. "You should be sorry for wishing her away like that!"

"No! Give her back!" 

She felt a pang of guilt within her chest for making her little brother cry. Honestly, she only meant it as a joke. "Toby," she spoke in soothing tones. "I'm here. I was only pulling your leg, babe! Don't worry. Goblins are not going to get me! I promise you."

"Promise?" He mumbled in a sniffled voice.

"I promise. Now, go to bed and behave. I'll be there in a few days and then, we'll build a snowman!"

Toby screamed in the background as Karen picked up the phone. "Sarah, I'm sorry he said that. He's just amazed by that book! I'm sorry about getting it. But, we ran out of books and he wanted a new story so I thought you would not mind if he could borrow one of yours."

"Oh, don't worry about it. Tell him if he likes it all that much he can have it! Tell him it's a gift before I come!"

"Thank you, Sarah. We'll be waiting for you when you get here. I hope your finals go well."

"Thanks. I'll call before I leave college. Goodbye." She murmured before setting the receiver back on its hook. 

Another tired sigh escaped her when she returned to her mug and comfortable seat. Oh, how it would be wonderful to throw all responsibility to the wind and just sit there. It wasn't that college was too demanding; it just had a sense of boredom to it. And to think, college was supposed to be the best years of your life. She almost snorted at the infamous quote.

However, she had no one to blame but herself.  After all, it was her decision to take the advanced college courses. She inwardly assumed it would as easy as her high school classes. Naivety was sometimes regretful. Well, in this case anyway. Besides, she needed to the extra work to keep her mind from wondering upon senseless things, like the next time she would attend another boring seminar. Truly, drama class could find something better than talk about imaginative beings. Not, that she didn't mind playing a part in fantasy; she only preferred something already known.

Shakespeare was a genius at the written word. Playing the tragic Juliet or drowning her self like Ophelia was truly fun. Especially, when the lead parts went to someone freshly in college. Sarah felt a sense of pride course through her as she thought of her influential roles in college drama.

Her theater comrades were wonderful. Occasionally, they would go out for a film or eat at a local restaurant. She never expected to have so many friends in drama, especially, Michael. 

Her heart fluttered from the thought of the flaxen-haired man. His laughing oceanic eyes were truly captivating. He somewhat reminded her someone from long ago, like a distant face in her clouded memory. It was a pity she could not remember whom his enigmatic counterpart was. Oh well, it did not matter anyway. Besides, the present man had shown some interest in her.

She faintly smiled from their last encounter. He had turned the lights out when she was on stage--almost, making her trip over a tree prop. His mischievous hands caught her by the waist and pulled her from center-stage, as she demanded him to let her go. Michael's gentle chuckle echoed within her mind even now. 

They had not kissed yet, mores the pity. But, damn well on the verge of it. She admitted there was heated attraction between them--the chemistry was certainly apparent. If not, she was definitely off her rocker. However, she was not apt to believe in a possible relationship until it actually happened. She learned long ago not to take things for granted. Of course, she couldn't remember where this marvelous revelation occurred. 

Whatever the reason, she was glad of it. How could one believe in a happy ending unless they made it happen? Sweat, blood, and tears where the requirements for a successful life. Some could not be lucky as their alleged mothers whose life fell neatly into place. Sarah scoffed at the thought.

She needed to stop dwelling on the past--what's done is done. And, there was nothing she could do to change that concrete truth. However, she could face with an artful bravado. Yes, her instant reaction to a situation was what got her lead roles. Thank God her talent was a genetic trait.

The wall clock chimed gently in the hallway--alerting her of the growing hour. Her eyes fell upon the clock's needle-like arms with growing disdain. Twelve already? God, it seemed but a few minutes ago she had talked to Karen. Oh well, time certainly flew when one was in deep contemplation. It was a shame her work would not be completed tonight.

It did not matter. Marlow and Kurtz would still be in the jungles of the Congo when she returned to page fifty-three. Besides, the short novel consisted of a measly seventy-two pages. Surely, one could finish reading it within a minimum of six hours. Conrad's writing was _that_ good. 

"I suppose I could turn in for the night." She mumbled to herself. 

Getting up, she walked down the darkened hall, not bothering to notice the strange shadow from the snow-kissed window. Her tired eyes focused upon the reflection in the mirror. With a look of disdain, she rubbed the reddened orbs and brushed the long, agonizing locks. 

She had to admit her hair was beautiful. It was a shame the rest could not match its lustrous beauty. Her verdant stare seemed distraught, almost longing. Perhaps, she was finally going insane. That would be the tragic end to her harsh existence and hard labour. Tragic irony almost seemed appealing.

Her light steps echoed in the hollow corridor when she went to her room. She was greeted with the red luminescence of her lava lamp. It was a pity everyone hated these things, especially Karen. There were some likes she could not break herself of and her obsession with the minute lamp was one of them.

Sarah shook her head from the memory of how she obtained the alleged fire hazard. Strange shops that sold anything from lava lamps to sex toys were indeed something to look into. Her father and Karen would die if they knew she purchased it from a shop that harboured exotic tastes. Oh well. College certainly had its upsides. Freedom was fortunately one of them.

She gazed at the red liquid with silent awe. The lamp could hold her attention for hours if she allowed it. Its bubbly liquid reminded her of an erupting volcano. The fire and power coming from such a massive structure was indeed appealing. That is, to someone who had nothing better to do with they're time.

Sarah pulled her loose locks away from her face and stretched. She did not even feel like changing into something more comfortable. Besides, she could break a few rules since no one shared her cozy apartment. It was rather nice, actually. At least, she did not have to fight over her clothes and wait for her lazy roommate to pay their half of the bill.

Her father saw to the payments and utilities of the apartment. She was rather surprised he offered to pay for everything without her help. Well, just as long as she worked hard and went to class on time. In which, she would continue to do. Truth be told, she was not a person who took college lightly. 

Actually, she _never_ took anything lightly. Perhaps, it was her habit of being serious. Her drama mates even commented upon her excessive solemnity. She always laughed with them and shook it off as nothing important. But, they could not see that was who she was. They would probably have a kick out of teenage self. Yes, an immature adolescent would certainly fit within their criteria. 

"And to think, I used to believe in that stuff! Even, goblins!" She spoke in a sardonic manner.

"Even goblins? Come, Sarah, surely you _still_ believe in _us_!" Someone muttered with true sarcasm.

Her eyes widened in sudden fright. "Who's there?" She asked weakly, turning to see someone, or rather, something hovering within the shadows.

A jester-like smile traced his pallid lips. So, she did not believe in goblins anymore? Well, what a pity. Certainly, she would still hold a sense of belief in their king. It would nice facing this spiteful mortal once again. And this time, she was the one to be taken away. 

"I would think you remember that we have already been introduced, my dear. Do you not remember me?" He asked stepping out of the shadows.

Sarah stepped away from the imposing form. Gods, who in the hell was this? Was this some sort of joke Michael and the others plotted? Placing on a masked bravado, she stepped forward. "Oh, it's you." She muttered with indifference. "Yeah, Goblin King, right?"

"Yes." 

Se bit back the impending laughter within her throat. She needed to play the part of naivety before crushing her friends' poor attempt of frightening her. "Oh, what an honour to see you again! Really, what do I owe the pleasure? Surely, you did not come for another child? Sorry, this apartment is temporarily vacant of unwanted children."

His smirk faded. "I did not come for a child." The remark was icy.

Sarah turned her back on him with airy defilement. Surely, this was merely a joke. The outfit, the makeup, and that expensive wig were going down the drain. Whoever this actor was; he was good--too good. He sort of reminded her of her elusive fantasy from long ago. She had told Michael once about it in a forced confession of truth or dare. Surely, he wanted to get her back for her certain stunt before break. 

"Oh?" She asked in an amused tone. "And what did you come for, my lord? Certainly, you didn't wish to see a common girl such as myself? I do not deserve to be held in one's elegant presence!"

God, she was a sarcastic little chit. Four years had still not managed to rule her viperous tongue. Oh, she would learn. By the gods, she would learn before this sweet meeting was over. It would be rather fun to see her derisive expression shatter in front of him. And she deserved it for after all she had done. Yes, this would be sweet revenge for her foolish actions. No one defied the Goblin King and went away unscathed. However, her punishment would be more creative than being tossed into an accursed oubliette. 

A flaxen brow rose in amusement. "Really? Then dare I say, _you_, my dearest, are the one who's to be taken…"

Her smile widened. "If memory serves me, it's children who are turned into goblins or whatever. Sorry to say, I've not read that story for quite some time. Fairytales do not appeal to me, since they don't exist. And, neither do you, Goblin King." Waving her hand she continued. "You brilliant façade is over! Tell Michael I love his sweet deceptions, but I prefer he try to terrify me with turning the lights off! Sorry, Goblin King you're little attempt of frightening me did not work."

Oh, how he wanted to slap that annoying smirk off her face! And who was Michael? Had four years actually changed her aspiring beliefs of his world into something modern and sardonic? He would have to change that. By Shiva, he would see this girl believing in magic before she could blink. Yes, this little project would certainly be fun!

Tugging at his gloves, he muttered, "Pity, I honestly hoped you would run screaming from my presence. It is apparent, the world has made you see all truths and no lies."

"If you were an actual goblin king, I would have to say you were a wonderful illusion to my sated mind! Really, it was nice to think for a moment that I wasn't dreaming about this actually being real. Kindly see yourself out--I'm going to sleep! Goodnight, _your highness_!"

Sarah turned to face him once more, only to see no one was there. Perhaps, too many aspirins finally had their vengeance upon her consciousness. Whatever it was, she would sleep it off, and think no more, especially, upon goblin kings.

Jareth disappeared in a cloud of glittering dust before she turned to face him. Let the girl sleep before she awakened to find herself somewhere else. Oh, this was going to be a pleasure! Yes, the undaunted Sarah Williams, defeater of his unsolvable labyrinth, would now be his to toy with. Perhaps, four years of waiting at such a prospective chance was worth it. Now, she would know she what it felt like being tossed aside like some careless rag doll. 

She would regretfully come to know the anger of a defeated goblin king…

_Author's Note: I'm sorry if this fic sounds remotely close to anyone's. Truly, it's been quite some time since I've had the desire to read a Labyrinth fic. Much less, write one. I know, completely boring for the first chapter. I wrote this on a spur-of-the-moment thing. I hope it's not too bad. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter up soon. Please, let me know what you think! ^_^*  _


	2. A Cruel Awakening

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth, characters, places, etc. All rights belong to Jim Henson and their respected owners._

Traitor of Dreams

Chapter 2

The incessant clicking of heels echoed throughout the empty corridor. Silence alone, was the only audience he had the liberty to grace his vexation with. No, no even the inanimate being would aid him with the confidence he needed. It had been so long--almost too long. On the other hand, it did not feel as if a day had passed since he last encountered her fiery attitude.

How could the little chit mature within a scant of years? It was true that he looked in upon her from time to time, but never fully concerned himself with her life. After all, it was she, who had forgotten him. No, he would not take pity upon her after everything she had done.

Looking back, he somewhat regretted his foolish actions and proclamations to her. He had offered her everything. And yet, she threw it back in his face, like a wretched plague. Oh, she would regret tossing his offer aside and choosing to play the heroine in the end. Truly, she was not getting the better end of the deal. Did she not realize he would have returned the child? Did she not see she had already won? Gods, there was no use in crying over past mistakes. It was time to move on. And, time to put the fiery vixen out of his mind.

He had better things to do than become her lackey again. It was rather fortunate her brother wished her away, ignorant of the damage it would inflict. Yes, Sarah would pay for her past sins against her dreams…against him. She was considered a traitor within the kingdom--a traitor of dreams. And he would make her see how foolish she was to take the cowardly way out and deny everything…

Shaking the loose thoughts aside, he seated himself once again upon the barbaric-horned throne. He eyed the disheveled room with apparent disdain. Ruffled tapestries that displayed the Labyrinth in its radiant splendour were rumbled upon the gritty floor. Melted wax from candles that had burned out long ago encased itself upon the wooden tabletop. No doubt the waxy substance had left burn mark upon the once-elegant furnishing. No matter, he did not expect to have anyone gawk at his throne-room anyway.

Biting his lower lip, he idly gazed at the window. Rich sunlight penetrated through the heavy stained glass. At least, _that_ hadn't been destroyed. The everlasting expectation of a day and night was perhaps, now the only thing he could depend upon. Everything else crumbled into tiny granules of dust--scattering its impartial fragments to the introverted wind. It was wrong to bring her here.

After his unanticipated defeat, everything within his mythical domain was deteriorating. Impenetrable walls that united the Labyrinth were crumbling to dust. The fiery's forest was no more than a dead orchard that concealed nothing but the skeletal remains of ancient timbers, even, the bog had dried to nothing but a deep precipice of decaying stench. God only knew what inhabitants thrived within the stagnated muck. Everything within his realm was slowly falling to inevitable ruin, and sadly, there was nothing he could do.

At first, the damages had been nothing but minor troubles that could be eluded. The Labyrinth always had flaws within its intricate network of passageways and traps. Shiva, it was not supposed to appeal to the eye, but strike fear into the hearts of those who dared to brave its deadly domain. Yes, this warren that had outlasted every known wonder in existence was now fading into naught. And, it was _her_ fault.

Earthly green and oceanic blue blazed with inner fury when he thought of her. Everything he had done and worked for over the centuries was now void. The magic that had protected his kingdom from potential enemies was slowly dwindling into nothing. Great power that once thrived and gave beauty to this province now seemed extinct. The elusive spirit of the Labyrinth itself was fading into oblivion. Everything within its magical territory would either wither away or die.

The loss of magic was dire to everything, including himself. What would a goblin king be without a kingdom to protect? Oh, she had dealt a great blow with her cruel words. Not only did she wound his egotistical pride, but also, damned the Labyrinth itself. Even, her alleged friends were doomed to this fate. No enchanted creature would go unscathed from her harsh decision. And, that gave him every right to end her meager life before her poison finally done its damage. 

Seething anger coursed through his veins when he thought of the tantalizing siren. She had no right to be deemed something beautiful when she was deadlier than a cobra. Fate had found a wonderful model to place pure evil and malice into. Yes, the shape of an angelic female was both shrewd and seductive. The little nymph had somehow clouded his mind with hopeless delusions of love. 

Like a loyal lamb, she had led him to the slaughter. Even at fifteen, she was vicious and cruel. The mask she wore would bring down kingdoms. Yes, she was certainly an embodiment of the mythical Lilith; snake blood flowed through those wonderful indigo veins. Even if she were a snake in a woman's guise, she was still tempting and damn well irresistible.

Why was he even thinking upon this? The situation represented itself four years ago. He wore his heart upon his sleeve and look where it had got him--a broken-down kingdom and a shattered heart. No, she would not do this again, he would make sure of it. Oh, she would see the error of her ways before she also, faded into the dark void. He would drag her down with him every inch of the way, and it would be joyous.

Triumph filled the air around him as he stood from the discomforting throne. Truly, he could find better means than model his seat from the horns of a giant bull. Sometimes, the curved lining caused minor back-pain. Perhaps, it wasn't the throne. Maybe, he was finally starting to feel age. Yes, after four and a half centuries, one might feel the wears of time. Of course, to immortals, four centuries was merely a child's age. 

He was in the prime of his life. And now, he was looking on to face total oblivion. Oh, the child had played her hand well. However, she failed to see, by not only defeating him, she also defeated herself. Her forfeiture of imagination caused this. Perhaps, he should not have found her life remotely interesting that evening he watched her in the park.

She was merely a girl in the subtle promise of blossoming into an enchanting creature. Her mysterious hazel eyes were slightly clouded with a partial disdain for reality, something, in which, he thrived upon. Her incessant belief of other worlds and the supernatural was truly captivating for one her age. Children younger than she usually lost their faith in the fantasy sphere the moment they found the Tooth Fairy did not exist. Not Sarah. Her perpetual conviction within his realm was what kept everything within balance.

Now that he thought of it, it wasn't her fault entirely. Belief was what kept his world in existence. Without the dreams and aspirations of humanity, everything that held even a fleck of magic would cease to exist. For years, the bridge of belief between humanity and his realm coincided with one another. Non-believers were a fractional sum that did not pose a probable threat to his world. 

However, as Fate would have it, another entity came into play. Science. Yes, the evolving belief of no god or magical entities was gradually becoming more common. People began to side with sense and reason. Asking questions that usually held no answers were regularly defined as being erroneous and illogical. 

The belief in anything the mechanical eye could not see was clearly denoted to be nonexistent. Unicorns, which once lingered upon the fields of imagination, were captured and produced into glue. Griffins and jeweled dragons--lords of the heavens--were shot down and destroyed by scientific evidence. Goblins and fairies were imprisoned in jars, where they suffocated and faded from the known world.

Now all that remained of his kinsmen were ancient tales of their famed existence--nothing more but mere fairy stories to tell a child before going to sleep. And within that sleep lie the dilapidated bridge, which linked their realms, was slowly crumbling. For without one, the other would also fade away in time. Skyscrapers and machines would fall into their unfortunate demise, as humanity would burn into ashes.

The smoldering scent of human flesh was not the most enticing of fragrances, not even to a realm that was suffering because of them. Jareth never took pleasure in seeing unnecessary pain within someone's eyes. No, he did not desire to see humanity fall from grace, but he also did not wish his world to endure endless pain. Something had to be done. The question was, could there be anything? Time was something he had always obtained. But now, it seemed he did not have enough of it. And sadly, it was running out…

His thoughts drifted back upon the girl he had taken. She was still probably resting from their journey. A vast amount of magic was used to transport them here. It was easy to bring humans here, but with the great loss power, it seemed rather difficult to transport them back to the Labyrinth. He had used much energy from the Labyrinth and himself to bring her, and right now, he felt a sense of exhaustion.   

Dizziness suddenly overcame his clouded persona, forcing him to sit upon the stone floor. A sense of fatigue pressed heavily upon his body as a splitting migraine visited his mind. Pain racked his fae-like form, showing how weak a king could be. Yes, his enemies would love to see his pitiful exterior convulsing by the side of his throne. A great ruler of power cringing by his seat of command was certainly a lovely vision. Oh, if Sarah could see him now. 

It would be some time before he would gain a fraction of his power back. It would barely be enough to face the Circe incarnate, but he could not wait much longer. Time was of the essence and dawdling would only inflict more pain upon his world. He had to stop this unending torture and _she_ seemed to be the answer he was searching for. 

Darkness filled his vision as his mind thought no further. The impending visitation of weariness conquered his restless soul and caused his tense muscles to vacillate before calming to idle tissue. The stinging headache eased when the feeling of sleep overcame his thoughts, thus bringing the great king to a restful slumber. Or, so it seemed.

****                       

Light poured into the darkened room, promising warming drops of golden sunshine to greet her. Hesitation built behind the closed lids--silently dreading to feel acclimation of damning light. In all truth, she was not a morning person. Actually, the morning didn't start until ten and ended abruptly by the stroke of twelve. Yes, the blinding beam behind her closed lids was merely false illumination.

It was a pity she could not believe her false conjectures. The light was there and it would always be. It was just as tangible as drawing breath to live. No literal alterations could change it, adjacent to anything supernatural. The penetration would remain constant until the earth revolved to the other side of its daily axial rotation. The laws of physics and natural regulations would at least, stay in tact for another day. That--was the only thing she could depend upon.

It was like the consistency of believing that Pi encompassed no numerable end or the universe was truly interminable. Scientific evidence stated these facts by the decrees of world-renowned theorists and philosophers. Murphy's law was considered fact as was the simplistic theories of Sir Isaac Newton. Truly, if one could find the third law of gravity by the help of an apple, then _anyone_ could be a genius. 

But, that was of no concern to someone who desired to reside within the art of theatre. The stability to be graceful and express human emotion of the dramatic realm was truly challenging. One almost seemed to be required with the genetic trait of acting—it did not appear from the metaphysical idea of spontaneous generation. 

A wry grin traced her rosy lips when she thought of the irony of actually thinking. De Cartes needed a new motto.  _I think, therefore I am;_ was truly a tedious quotation when one actually thought of it. Oh well, she would not dwell upon the superficial ideas of philosophers long since dead, she could think upon them in class. Which was in…

Her eyes opened widely with slight fear. God, she would be late—again. She could feel the indifferent scowl of Professor Crawford right now. His clipped words would generate around the lines of, _'Ah, it appears Miss Williams has finally to grace us with her impromptu presence. Class, this furthers demonstrates my theory upon the student body lacking the conception of time—terrible for one of an esteemed Calculus class. Especially, when it's very close to finals…'_

Sarah groaned at the imaginary reprimand within her mind. Calculus was wonderful for those who believed in the dependency of numbers. One never failed with the numbers that shaped their lives. For, without them, how could anyone tell the time between their beginning and abrupt passing? Numbers were cold, shapeless, and redundant. They had meaning—merely the reality of things. 

It was not necessary for her to obtain the class. Actually, it was not required for her major. Mathematics and the literary world usually never played upon the same field. Words clashed with integers in a battle over the human mind. It was ruled out that, whoever could do both was truly an exceptional being. However, much to her dismay, she was not considered as such. 

No matter how much effort she placed into her studies, she could never figure out the mechanics of it. Numbers formed themselves within intricate patterns, showing how elaborate they could be. They could entertain, captivate, but also, cause migraines. Numbers could never fashion themselves as words could. Showing expression and true emotion was something they could never achieve. And that was where she failed…

For so long, she forced herself to believe within the reality of things. Yes, anyone could see a pattern numbers created. Anyone could work postulates and theorems that covered three chalkboards with just one problem. The question was, why? Why waste so much time trying to find the end of something that really had no purpose? The question found itself as irrelevant—and that, was where she fell short.

But, she would keep trying until she reached the end of her purpose. She was never known to quit. And by the gods, she would not now. Not when she was so close to obtaining that hard-earned C. Yes, it was rather petty of her to set her sights so low, but that was the best she could do. Besides, she wasn't perfect like others she knew.

Michael on the other hand, was a flawless gift from God. With his masculine superiority, vast knowledge in every subject, and the charming devil-may-care aura he obtained, gave him the right to be acknowledged as the incarnate of Adonis. Well, maybe his looks also added to the equation.

But, that wasn't everything that made him who he was—he reminded her of someone. She would not get into this again. Every time she thought of the omniscient comparison, she would usually gain an unnecessary headache. Besides, no vague face from her clouded memory could compare to the man before her. Her traitorous mind had even once considered marrying him. It was a nice thought, but a little farfetched for her taste.

The blissful thought quickly melted from her prestigious mind when she noticed her surroundings…

Alabaster stonewalls were covered with luxurious tapestries—which appeared to be hand-woven. The rich colours in the threading were truly exquisite. A mastered hand must have taken the time to craft each fibre into a strategic design, fully exemplifying their rendered talent. Yes, the enormous drapery was truly something to behold.

Wait. What she thinking? She had to get out of here. The question was, where was here? Perhaps, this was all a dream. Maybe, the light she had deduced to be ersatz was, and this room was the outcome of a partial reflection from reading too much medieval literature. Of course, this was merely a dream, suited to fit her wild imagination. Strange, how her mind could focus upon surroundings that felt so…real—almost, too real.

Under her bare feet, the floor felt cold and gritty, the tiles also having the creased texture of a corporeal stone floor. She breathed in a light scent of faded lavender as the sun's beams warmed her hand. Wait. Wasn't it said that one could not feel anything within a dream? The last time she checked scientists had proven it to be factorial—they were never wrong.

But, then why was she feeling two conflicting senses at once? Rubbing her sore eyes, she finally set her sights upon the oak door—which apparently led the way out. She hesitated briefly as an air of uncertainty filled her edgy senses. Whatever lay beyond that door would certainly feel her wrath for doing this unprecedented jest.

An ephemeral smile traced her lips as she crossed over to the imposing threshold. She glanced at the door with a moment's appreciation for elaborate artwork carved into its wooden exterior. Goblins of various shapes and sizes were portrayed in cordial bow to figure closely similar to an adult fae. The wild hair and medieval attire certainly brought back a few memories from her fairy stories as a child. However, it did not matter now. Of course, the door was magnificent to say the least.

Hesitation crossed her features as her hands found the ornate brass latch. A staggered sigh escaped her lips when her thin fingers worked the handle. Locked. She tried once more, except this time with a little more force. Still locked. What in the hell? 

Her brows pinched together in confusion. Was this some kind of sick joke? Odin, what was going on? This was not funny anymore. Michael and the others were most likely laughing on the other side. Inwardly, that's what she hoped, but somewhere within her mind, she knew this wasn't a joke. The innate sense of reality kicked in when she forced the lock once more.

Exhilaration filled her as her attempts of escape failed. _'Come on, guys, this is not funny. Please, be on the other side! Please, let this be a joke! Please, God, let this be a dream!'_ Tears threatened to fall from her troubled eyes when silent plea went unanswered. For several minutes, her worried mind focused upon the cold stone floor. This had to be a dream, or rather, a terrible nightmare. 

Wait. What was she doing? Sarah Williams never cried when an obstacle stood in the way, crying was for the weak-minded, and she far from being weak. Gathering her courage, she faced the door once more. This time, sheer determination shone within her misty eyes. Her staggered breath regulated itself to normalcy as she rapped against the door. 

"The joke's over! Let me out!" She shouted with utter contempt. 

Her angered glared deepened when no one answered. This time, she placed full force against the door, causing a great pain in her side. "Damn it, let me out of here!"

Sarah's malicious threats and screams were heard. The echoed screeching reached most portions of the castle, and unfortunately, the throne room. Hazy eyes timidly opened from the unexpected shrieking. Blue and green stared blankly as more cries were heard. What was that? His mind briefly wondered if he was imaging everything until reality finally kicked in. Sarah.

Without hesitation, the Goblin King wrenched himself from the cold floor and bolted down the darkened corridor. He did not take time to realize his strength's depletion until he stood by her door. Incessant pounding and threats were muffled to nothing but pleas to let her out. Concern filled him when sobbing was heard. Gods, what had he done?

His worry was quickly replaced with anger when her voice resounded in a fiery hatred, "Let me out you son of a bitch, before I rip your throat out! You can forget me ever dating you! I don't ever want to see you again!"

So she had the audacity to throw names at him and make him sound like a hopeless schoolboy in love? How dare she! Oh, she would regret the day they ever cross paths. Jareth's icy gaze smoldered with true malice when he unlocked the door. He did not realize his violent entrance until he noticed it knocked her to the floor. 

His murderous glare softened when he noticed tears threatening to spill from her distressed eyes. Gods, what had he done? Sarah, the same Sarah who had amazed him time and time again, was now receding from him. Like a cowering child, she gently cradled left cheek--the telltale signs of a violet bruise forming. How foolish could he be?

Without thought, he crossed the threshold and crouched by her side. A gloved hand rose to meet her concealed cheek and quickly evaded when she turned from him. The hand dropped to his side as he noticed the evident confusion etched upon her feminine features. He frightened her. Yes, her eyes held the truth within them even when, her expression opposed it.

"This is a joke, isn't it? Michael and the others set this up to be the best practical joke in history. Tell them, I'm not amused." She muttered in a low whisper.

Jareth held his stance as a piece of the stonewall fell. It would not be wise to keep up this elusive façade--she had to know. "Sarah, you know this is not a joke. Why are you denying it?"

Sarah set jaw. "Because, you don't exist! Why am I thinking about this place when I have gotten out of my childhood beliefs? I cannot understand what made me think of this dream. Wait. Toby was talking about it last night--this is just a dream."

Her eyes widened greatly when she felt his gloved palm press against her lips. Menacing eyes threatened her lithe form when his grip around her mouth tightened. "Hush!" He muttered in a low growl. "Don't you _dare_ utter another word! Do you understand me, Sarah?"

She obeyed.

Something inside of her screamed not to resist this man's command. This strange apparition graced her presence like a lion eying its prey. She felt his devouring gaze upon her--marking her for his afternoon meal. Yes, she was completely helpless against this dangerous foe. Words could not save her--nothing could.

A glance of reluctance traced her hazel gaze as she hesitantly nodded. His gloved hand retained its intimidating position. No, he would not remove his hand from her lips until he was certain she would not go against his word. He could not differentiate her everlasting gaze. It was blank--just like his. So, the child still held some of her infamous qualities after all. How lovely.

He glared at her tentatively before removing his hand from her mouth. Shaking his unruly mane, he murmured, "It would be best it you remain silent until I have the chance to explain everything." He nodded in a haughty manner. 

"But-" She countered before feeling the leather pressing against her lips once more. A silent threat gleamed within her translucent eyes when she felt his heated stare upon her. This man, whoever he was, was certainly an arrogant prick. How in God's name had she wound up in this predicament? Well, it did not matter anyway. Her oh-so gracious captor was about to reveal his purpose on the problem.

"Sarah," he spoke calmly. "This is certainly a pleasant surprise, is it not? I mean after four years, we have the chance to have a nice little chat." Jareth pasted an arrogant smirk across his lips and continued. "But, I don't believe you seem happy to see me. In which, you shouldn't."

Her eyes silently questioned his motive and finally whispered, "This is just--"

"A dream?" He finished for her. Shaking his wild strands of flaxen, he countered, "I think not, dear girl. Not this time, Sarah."

"Look, I'm over this part of my life. Fantasy is something for children and the weak-minded to believe in. I do not have time to have faith in fairies or goblin kings for that matter. My life is within reality and this," she held her bravado, "is just an illusion."

Jareth's smirk melted from his pallid lips. He opened his mouth, albeit briefly, and considered against it. His wild eyes found the elaborate stained glass window more enticing for the moment. "You know, I should have allowed you to awake in the bog, but unfortunately the thought did not cross my mind--until now!" He grinned wickedly as a crystal materialized within his gloved palm.

Sarah glared at him with indifference. Was this she her mind has reduced itself to--a man in spandex pants doing cheap parlor tricks? Gods, she needed to get out more. "So, you'll be giving a one-way ticket to a bog? Come, come, Goblin King, certainly there is more than this cheap trick! I mean I've seen better magicians that can at least pull a bunny out of their hat!"

"Quite." He turned his back to her and idly spun the translucent sphere within his palm. In a fluid movement, he tossed it to her. It was a pleasure to see her hazel eyes widen and then disappear as the crystal shattered into oblivion. Let her make sarcastic remarks now. This silly war would certainly be fun the moment her alleged grip on reality failed. 

He smiled at the prospect of seeing her break. Yes, she would certainly be his puppet to manipulate after all she had done. No matter if a part of him pleaded that it was not actually her fault. She would pay, and, by the gods, dearly. 

His smiled faded when his gaze caught the fallen masonry scattered across the stone floor. His kingdom was falling apart. By each passing moment, another piece of the Labyrinth was fading from existence. Something _had_ to be done before it was too late. And inwardly, he knew _she_ would be the answer he had been searching for. Either that, or she would watch his world fall into the void. He refused to let her go. Not now, not ever. Sarah was finally his to torture…

_Author's Note: I know this is a bit tedious and flawed so far, my apologies. It's gradually rolling along…  But trust me, the story will be more interesting in upcoming chapters. I want to thank those of you who have read and reviewed. Thank you. Hopefully, I will not dim your expectations of this fic. I want to keep this original as much as I can. Expect the next chapter within a few weeks to a month, pending when I have time and inspiration. ^_^* _  


	3. Prisoner of Thine Enemy

Traitor of Dreams Chapter Three 

Sarah watched in dismay as another gust of wind teased her disheveled hair. She raked through the tangled strands, emitting a string of unladylike curses. Her eyes burned with green, liquid fire when she failed at straightening her tousled mane. 

She bit her lip in visible frustration. Why in God's name did she have to be here? Wasn't this merely a child's dream that her crazed mind created long ago, a dream that somehow allowed a much-needed transition from an imaginative child to sensible adult? True that she was barely eighteen, but still a sensible adult nonetheless… 

She had a driver's license, a small grant that provided the tuition for this semester, a list of responsibilities that she handled successfully, and a host of friends that cared for her. Sarah felt her world complete. Whole. There was nothing more to life than the harsh reality of surviving in a world without the faith in something that did not exist.

The Goblin King, his minions, and every other fictional character were created for the entertainment for those who detested a rainy day. Delving into a world of fantasy was fun when you knew it was only a means of escaping boredom.

This little rendezvous in Dream Land was nothing more than a thought created from her consciousness. A smile tinged with bittersweet irony traced her lips. Of course, it was triggered by Toby's harmless threat. Shaking her head in silent derision, she viewed her temporary aggravation with mock humour.

It was interesting to make an ass of yourself in your personal dream.

An unwilling laugh contradicted her dismal surroundings. Her eyes jeer at the sight of her deranged dream. Perhaps a visit down memory lane seemed to be a good idea; she had nothing better to do at the moment, anyway. Well, until she awoke from this undesired fantasy. 

She cracked her knuckles and grinned. This was insane. Actually, insane wasn't the word for this momentary bout of madness. But, there was no one here to judge her actions, no doctors in the crisp, white lab coats coming to restrain her with a tranquilizer. No one. Maybe she would unravel this mysterious reoccurrence of dreams, and finally her sardonic nemesis, something that haunted her mind for the past three years…

"There is certainly a method to my madness," she murmured to herself, mentally winking at a tragic Danish prince. "Perhaps I'll play the part of a saintly heroine once more."

She snorted at the base remark. If her memory served her, she was anything but saintly on her last quest. Toby would laugh at her wondrous display of pathetic chivalry. Rescuing him from a 'dangerous' villain with a terrible case of eighties hair would be clichéd in itself, the banal impact would certainly enthrall the boy for hours.

It was better to keep such simplistic—not to mention embarrassing—things saved for another day. Perhaps she would confess it to him when he was recovering from an inevitable break up with a fickle girlfriend, or suffering from the consequences of his first hangover. 

Toby would be the bane upon his parents one day. Of that she had no doubt. Her father and Karen would have a shit fit once he started associating with a wilder crowd. It was inevitable, of course. Every male hit that certain point in his life, where life seemed better when dancing on the edge of a knife's blade. 

She somewhat dreaded to see what her sweet little brother would one day become. It was hard to imagine that he was already four. Where did the time go? It felt like yesterday that her brother came home from the hospital, tightly rapped in baby blanket. 

And now, here he was, wreaking havoc upon his parents. It was good to see someone take after her rebellious ways, albeit in a more childlike manner. Toby would certainly surpass her desired expectations.

It was rather strange to think upon such things in a dream, but when were dreams ever equitable? Truthfully, her dreams were more realistic as of late. Why would they suddenly shift to fanatical whims that a child indulged itself in? Wasn't it illogical to dream something twice, and yet, different at the same time? 

The Labyrinth was different from her last interlude; the land and its surroundings seemed more arid, dilapidated. Gone was the magic and splendour the land once obtained. In its place was a dull wasteland filled with invisible despair. 

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to assure herself that it was impossible to feel something that was not there. People could not feel intangible emotions in dreams—especially in dreams. God, she was losing her mind—in a senseless delusion, no less.

A cool wind collided against her prone form, forcing her to return from her silent reverie. She watched as dead, dried leaves swirled in an invisible zephyr, the rustle scratching against anything solid. She absently kicked aside a loose paving stone with her boot. 

The Labyrinth certainly lost its luster; she gave it that. Even though she was considered a mature adult, she still enjoyed fantasy. Every sagacious girl dreamt of living in a land rich with beauty and be adored by a loving crowd. Every confident girl wanted to marry the prince of their dreams and have a happily ever after. Every idealistic girl wanted her wishes to come true, and that included Sarah.

But this was not her choice of a place to live, nor the loving crowd she wanted. Who would want to live in a world that fell into decay, harboured countless imaginary creatures, and had no running water? Who would want to live in a world where there was nothing but the endless days of constant doubt and endless disbelief? But most of all, who would want to live with their arch enemy?

Instead of a handsome prince that every woman desired, there was a cynical Goblin King that pleasured in others' pain. A veritable devil in gaudy attire, one would say. He was far from a just and benevolent lord; he was a true tyrant with a cruel heart.

His attitude was not the only negative aspect about him; his very existence was unnerving. From his ungodly mismatched eyes to the callous sneer upon his aquiline features, the Goblin King was more of a villain than hero. How could he ever be anything more?

She mentally scolded herself for the traitorous thought. It was ludicrous to dwell upon things that were unimportant, not to mention foolish. There were handsome, available men begging to be her prospective boyfriend, and here she was, pondering upon a man that did not exist. Even in dreams she could petty.

"Come on, Sarah, get a grip," she admonished herself. "This is all just a dream, just a bloody dream that you need only awake from. Confront the bastard, and you'll be free from this…"

Her confident words flitted into the wind, and were carried to the far corners of the realm. She forced herself to press on, stepping over a series of dead branches and other debris. Her eyes focused upon the small, shell-like castle in the distance, her self-confidence fading fast. Before it was over, she would come to regret ever seeing another shred of fictitious literature. 

Stabbing onward, she silently cursed the Goblin King's forgotten name. Oh, he would regret this. By hell, he would pay for taking her dream and turning it into a nightmare…

"Goblin King, if you're listening, I want you to know something," Sarah shouted to the silent heavens. "I will defeat you again, even though this just a silly dream my mind conjured up!"

Smiling to herself, she took another step, quickly noticing the rapidly forming cracks in the stonework. Like an unexpected earthquake, the landscape's fragile structure began to falter and break. Stones and other debris fell into the large cracks, as a shockwave of motion caused her to lose her balance.

_"Oh God," _she thought._ "Why is this happening? What have I done to deserve this?"_

****              

Tired eyes hesitantly opened to the sight of a cold stone floor. The dark hall was silent except for the steady ticking of a gilded clock on opposite wall, the dagger-shaped dials displaying a quarter past three. Cerulean and hazel blurred from the sight of the timepiece. Time, now and again, was truly a headache.

A sigh betrayed the hallowed silence of the hall, as if predicting the impending arrival of something dire. Idle hands rose to clasp the sides of an emotionless face. Like a man having too much to drink, the languid figure staggered to regain composure. 

Steadying himself like a broken puppet, he leaned against a battle-worn chair. A gloved hand quietly massaged his aching temples, as he tried to remember today's unexpected events.

Sarah. He had her within his grasp. A wan smile traced his crooked lips. She was his to do with as he wished. But God, she made quite an impact. Not to mention changed the course of the Labyrinth's imminent destruction. Perhaps she would be the catalyst in this bout of survival.

He knew she reasoned that this was merely a dream, had cast aside her childish beliefs long ago. She was ready for a rude awakening. It did not matter if she was hurt in the process—survival was the most important thing. So many depended upon him, and he would be damned if he failed them. 

His rival would pay for her treachery, not just against the Labyrinth, but also against him. The game was straightforward, the rules simple. The ending, however, was not how it was supposed to be—the Labyrinth was not intended to be destroyed in the process. Fate, it seemed, did not come without a sense of bittersweet irony.

God, when did he become so maudlin? It was not his nature to spout poignant poetry over the fate of his world. Nor would he portray his nemesis in a different light. He would save the Labyrinth, no matter the consequence. He would see this to the end. 

Jareth subconsciously summoned a small crystal in his right hand, the cool smooth surface gracing the scarred leather of his palm. He idly glanced at the translucent bauble, and spun it in a playful gesture. The crystal sphere rolled against his hand until he braced it against his lean fingers.

A small image of fuming female caught his inequitable gaze. A grin reached one side of his mouth. So, the chit was muttering profanities about him. Even if the wench had lost her conviction in this place, she did not lose her fiery potency. And that was a challenge he would greatly love to have.

The girl had filled out quite nicely, he admitted. She reminded him of an impish fae that burned her father's palace with a fire spell. In the story however, the naughty princess was punished, but later released from her sentence. Women always got out everything. However, Sarah would not be so fortunate. No, she would not easily escape the punishment he had in mind. 

He noticed her stop and shout to the heavens, her face contracting anger and rage. His notions of retribution ended as he watched his adversary say something that concerned the Labyrinth. Jareth's dark gaze hardened, his interest on her muted threat. It was a pity that crystals did not convey sound.

A loud rumble from outside confirmed his fears. Sarah had denied the Labyrinth's existence once again. An unwilling growl of frustration escaped him. He cursed to every known deity in the Underground. God, why did she have to be difficult? Why did Sarah have to be such a pain in the royal ass?

He muttered a vial oath and threw the crystal against the wall, where it shattered into countless fragments of glass. Clenching his pointy teeth, he glared at the broken bauble. It was a shame that it was not Sarah lying in the crystal's place, all broken and useless, but that could be remedied soon enough.

Without thinking, he pulled his cape around his tense form, and disappeared from the throne room. Oh, Sarah would pay, he thought wickedly. She would pay with more than her worthless soul had to offer, he would take her very existence.

By the gods, Sarah would regret the day she ever found out about the realm of fantasy.

****   

Sarah watched in silent dread as the damage swept across the landscape. The land looked devoid of life, and on the verge of collapse, but she did not realize it would slip so fast. It wasn't a minute after she voiced her disbelief in the place that it began to crumble. 

She shook her head in uncertainty. No, her words had no effect in this dream. It was impossible, not to mention absurd. Biting her lip in irritation, she thought of the possible reasons for such a drastic change in the environment. 

The Goblin King.

Her mind muttered the name with silent disdain. Of course, the cruel bastard was behind this. This was only a scare tactic to frighten her into submission. Well, he would not have the pleasure of seeing her fail. No, she refused for him to have the upper hand. 

She jutted her chin in confidence. "I will not cower to such an arrogant, audacious prick that is nothing more than a—"

"Oh, how you do go on, Sarah dear." A masculine voice muttered dryly. 

Sarah hesitantly turned to face her menacing adversary. Her mind searched for a brave retort, while her heart betrayed her, its rampant beat pounding against her chest. 

Jareth saved her from having to speak. Glaring at her, he said, "Oh, look, I've frightened the brave heroine," he commissioned a kingly sneer. "It seems that you're less than courageous—or better yet, foolish—without your mindless compatriots."

Inattentively, he touched her cheek with his callous glove, his strange eyes silently reading her. Feeling her unexpected shudder from his cool touch, he inwardly smiled. So, the girl was not so confident after all. It would be fun to see her slowly break under his shadow.

"So frightened," he murmured, his voice soothing her immobile form. "So powerless against me, aren't you, Sarah?" A solemn grin traced the edge of his crooked lips. "I do have power over you, my dear. Try to remember that."

Sarah bit her bottom lip in nameless fear. "No—no," she stuttered over her words. "You don't. You cannot!"

"Can't I?" He countered, a dangerous gleam within his mismatched eyes. "You no longer have the luxury to mutter those useless words, and expect to escape me. The rules are different this time, my dear, _you_ are the prisoner now, and I very much doubt your brother will be your champion."

"But he didn't mean it!" Sarah wailed in disbelief. "You cannot do this! It's not—"

"Fair?" Jareth interrupted with a mocking chuckle. "Let me explain what fair is. Fair would have been you not—" He stopped in mid-sentence, as if realizing it was a mistake to tell her. "Fair is just a word, Sarah. Much like love, it has no meaning other than the thought placed behind it. It appears that you still need to learn a few things."

She glared at him, her stare murderous. He chided her like a child, like he did when she was fifteen. Shaking her head in anger, she turned her back on him. "I don't know why I'm wasting my time when I know this is—"

Jareth wrenched her around to face him. He did not care to see the panic within her eyes. "A dream? Do I look like a dream, Sarah? Do I feel like a dream to you?" He shook her shoulders with vicious intent. "Don't presume to deduce everything so lightly."

Sarah closed her mouth, and shut her eyes. She forbade herself to cry, especially in front of him. He was right; this wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare, a nightmare from which there was no escape.

"Please," she whispered in a defeated voice. "Please, let me go."

"I think not."

"Your hands…are hurting me."

Jareth dissected Sarah like an insect, his feral gaze observing her frail figure. She seemed so weak, so fragile within his frigid hold. Her head bowed in reluctant submission. Sarah was not this cowardly; she would not falter in front of him like this. Where had the obnoxious adolescent gone? She was giving in, and for some arcane reason, it troubled him.

Unwillingly, he released her flaccid shoulders. Sarah did not raise her head. Instead, her verdant eyes remained closed, her voice silent. A small, almost inaudible sigh of relief escaped her, her tense muscles relaxed.

He stared at her with cool, calculating eyes. This small act of submission was not like her at all. He honestly expected her to shout out him, and repeat her _sensible_ denial. But she didn't. 

"Sarah," he spoke in a gentle voice.

She remained in her statue-like stance, averse to answer him.

Waiting a moment longer, he lost his patience, and clasped a wrist tightly, his abrasive leather glove wound around a delicate wrist in choking grip. "Look at me," he ordered. "Sarah, I grow tired of this little charade. Don't me make do something that you may regret."

Her eyes opened, the ardent fire gone from their emerald depths. "Do what you must, Goblin King," she said coldly. "I don't care anymore."

A golden brow rose derisively. "You don't care? Be careful, Sarah. To say that you do not care, usually results in unexpected disappointment."

"Stop with your pointless analogies! I'm tired of arguing with you! Just do whatever you plan to do, and leave me alone!"

"Leave you alone, my dear?" he asked quizzically. "I think not. Unless, you prefer to be reintroduced to a certain oubliette… No, I don't believe I'll give you the satisfaction in that. Come," he pulled her closer against him, feeling her shuddered intake of breath. "You will stay in my castle."

Sarah stared at him with harsh indignation. "I'd rather be a prisoner than stay with you."

Jareth met her fury with his own dark gaze. "Sarah, you are already my prisoner. It would be wise to acknowledge that."

"Of course, Your Grace. I am, after all, merely a witless captive."

He bit back an impolite rejoinder to the barb, and smiled. "I'm glad you found your viperous tongue. However, it will not save you—not this time."

"I don't need to be saved."

"Don't you? You certainly had no problem asking for help the last time you were here," he stroked his chin in an inquiring gesture. "Are you so certain of yourself, or are you too proud and solid in you beliefs that you do not need help?"

Sarah held her ground, refusing to allow this arrogant figment of her imagination to get the best of her. "I'm an no longer a child, Goblin King; I do not need another fighting my battles for me." 

"Such a pity. It would certainly confirm your reluctance of seeing them, wouldn't it?"

A pang of dread stirred within her stomach. Something within his mocking tone made her feel dread, trepidation. Finding her voice, she asked, "What are you talking about?"

He looked at her as if she were insane. "Why your disinclination of calling on them. Don't tell me that you refuse to believe in your friends as well. I told them you did, and they called me a liar. Believe me, Sarah, I do not lie."

"You merely twist your words around."

He emitted a snort of disbelief. "And you're no better? Didn't you promise that whenever you needed them, you would call? I suppose your calls did not go through."

She wondered how he would know of her promise—he wasn't there. On the other hand, it was a dream. He could have such knowledge, if that were possible. "I tried once," she admitted. "But nothing happened. I should not have expected less."

"You should not," his eyes narrowed a fraction, before glowing with an unnatural luster. "Of course, it's your nature not to."

"What do you want from me? I know there's something that you're keeping from me."

"Quick to the point. You know I've always enjoyed your directness. Such candor! Well, I suppose I'll oblige you with my aberrant honesty." His tone became serious, the lines in his face, hardened. "You will stay in my castle, until I say otherwise. There will be no arguing between us, and you _will_ obey me. Is that understood?"

She said nothing. Instead, she turned her back on him.

Febrile anger filled him with her intentional audacity, the fiery emotion inundating his senses. He instinctively seized her shoulders, and forced her to look at him. "You will not do that again, Sarah," he said, the deadly warning visible within his restrained tone. "Don't cause me to do something both of us may regret."

She refused to submit, and he despised her for it. A sardonic grin graced his crooked lips. He silently produced a crystal in his right palm, and held it out to her. He watched her stare at the translucent sphere, as if mesmerized by it radiance. Before she could tear her gaze away from the bauble, Jareth threw it at a nearby wall. 

The glass sphere shattered instantly, leaving its shattered remains on the filthy cobblestones. "Things break, Sarah," he said gravely. "Even a fiery spirit. I would hate to break you of it."

Her mask fell, the brave façade leaving her. "Then do what you will, Goblin King. It seems that you will have your way. I am _your_ prisoner."

Jareth did not reply to her subtle remark. It was sometimes better to leave things unsaid. He merely nodded in assertion, and closed his eyes. Producing a crystal, he pulled her against him, and disappeared. 

His will placed them into a beautifully decorated chamber, and watched Sarah open her eyes to observe her new surroundings. 

The chamber, though small, was one of the more lavishly decorated rooms in the castle. Stonewalls boasted thick tapestries, which portrayed different locations of the Labyrinth. The deep, rich colours were invigorating to say the least. 

A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the room. Above it was a circular fresco, which also depicted a scene of the Labyrinth. The stone floor was covered in a burgundy Turkish style rug. There was only one window in the room, and it was framed in a Gothic arch shape. Sarah's eyes widened at the sight of the bitter, metal bars framing the blue stained glass. 

She refused to look at him—refused to see the mocking pleasure within his strange eyes. Instead, she turned her attention to the rest of the room's furnishings.

To her right, was a wooden armoire and a bookcase filled with various volumes in strange letters. The diverse tomes piqued her interest, but she would quench her curiosity later. 

A staggered sigh escaped her, as she turned to face the last piece of furniture. Her emerald eyes hesitated to look at the large bed, its massive size filled half of the room. The king-size divan was large enough to fit three adults comfortably, perhaps even another. 

The satin sheets were a dark shade of grey. Pillows of numerous shapes and sizes dominated the top half, while a velvet plum throw covered its base. Curtains of the same colour hung from the wooden canopy. A mirror was subtly placed above the bed for certain…activities. 

"This is where you will be staying…for the moment." Jareth whispered, confirming her worst fear. 

"Wouldn't you rather throw me in the dungeon? I certainly do not deserve such accommodations."

"Sarah, Sarah," he chided in a playful tone. "You are a guest here. It would be most uncivil of me if I were to treat a guest with such revulsion. Besides, I believe this room will suite all of your needs," he glanced at the bed.

Sarah understood his perverse meaning. "You bastard," she muttered under her breath.

His playful expression melted to one of vile hatred. "Don't call me that," he glared at her ominously. A gloved hand snaked through her dark hair, and tugged violently. "Sarah, don't _ever_ call me that again. Am I understood?"

Sarah could not speak, her voice strangely muted. She could only nod in agreement, hoping that her silent submission would appease him, and cause him to return to his satirical mood.

Jareth quickly released her, as if burnt. The dangerous gleam in his eyes was gone, only a blank expression remained. He took a step back from her, and turned away. "The large cord on your right is a service bell. If there is anything you need, pull it and my servants will attend you."

He did not give her the chance to speak. Before she could blink, he was already gone in a cloud of dust and glitter. Sarah watched the last of the glistening fragments fall to the stone floor and disappear. 

A wave of confusion crashed against her mind. Why did such a light remark infuriate him so? He looked as if he would murder her—and it frightened her. Dream or not, this man—being—or whatever he was troubled her. 

She had to escape from this room, from this nightmare, but how? How could one break out of a dream? Shaking her head in dismay, she realized that she was a prisoner on her own accord—a prisoner of a dream.

****       

Author's Note: It's been a little over nine months since I've last posted, my apologies to those who have waited so long for another chapter. I'll try not to be so negligent in updating this story again. This is one fiction I've wanted to continue, but have not because of various reasons…

_However, this is merely the beginning of the story—an introduction, if you will. I'm no longer making this up as I go along. It has an actual plot now! ^_^ _

_Look forward to the next chapter sometime soon!_


	4. The Price of Vanity

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth, characters, places, etc. All rights belong to Jim Henson and their respected owners.

Traitor of Dreams.

Chapter 4.

_Creep into thy narrow bed,_

_Creep, and let no more be said!_

_Vain thy onset! all stands fast._

_Thou thyself must break at last._

- _Matthew Arnold_

Eyes filled to the brim with saltine tears, which refused to fall from a beautiful, wan mask. The delicate façade remained stoic, remote. Dark tresses of ebony cascaded around the ivory face, giving an illustrious contrast to the shaded beauty. Pale lips stayed firm, emotionless. 

She bowed her head in abject silence, quietly lingering upon what had transpired. He had frightened her. She reluctantly admitted the harsh fact, even when it cut her pride to do so. 

Pride. She mentally balked at the word. It was a poor weakness, a poor weakness, which caused her enormous regret. Had she learned to display a little more humility, she wouldn't be here—trapped in these cumbersome circumstances.

This nightmare was beginning to feel less like a dream and more like reality. That, in its self, was more than she could bear.

It went beyond all reason that she could feel pain, taste the dusk upon her dry lips, even cry. Dreams did not obtain such qualities. No, they harboured nothing more than past recollections of the human mind—a memory—nothing more.

And yet, she felt that this was more than a mere delusion. The concept of the Labyrinth actually being real carried a dire certainty—her childish quest actually happened. And her foolish wish caused her brother to be abducted by a dangerous enemy. 

The thought of causing her brother unnecessary pain, wrenched at her stomach. Guilt filled her soul like a spreading plague, the icy fingers of Death severing the delicate silver cord. 

Never. She did not wish her brother away; it was only a dream, which her subconscious thoughts conjured up during the night. Her brother was safely tucked away in the wrinkled, soft-linen sheets of his cradle. And she had conveniently fallen asleep by her dresser. 

She remembered the events clearly, small droplets of morning dew glazed her windows, the dawn's amber rays idly poked through dingy grey clouds, a light breeze disrupted the verdant leaves from the old oak outside. Yes, her morning was like every other morning—normal.

There was nothing that could contradict that she dreamt it. There were no goblins, no traces from the party after her victory, not even a fragment of crystal opposed her logical conclusion. 

And for three years, she believed that conclusion. It was hard to believe it to be a dream at first, but after the wear of the passing years, her vivid memories of the mystical Labyrinth had begun to fade. She could barely remember her friends that helped her through the illusory fantasy.

Sarah stared at her surroundings with visible apprehension. The door was locked, she was certain of it. She glared at the barred stained glass window with growing anger. This was not a room for guests; it was a prison, a prison where she felt trapped, helpless. The Goblin King would have been more merciful if he had thrown her into an oubliette.

Grabbing handfuls of dark hair, she pulled them in front of her face. The subtle act was something she did when the sense of desolation pulled at her mind. Like biting nails, the disheveling of loose hair was more of a stress reliever. At least it calmed her frantic thoughts.

She had to escape this elaborate prison, but how? The door was locked, the window barred. Guards, albeit of the dim-witted caste were most likely patrolling the halls. And as always, the ever-watchful eye of the Goblin King would be on her. Her chances of a successful escape were slim. 

It would be easier to find a way out of an oubliette, than abscond this complex edifice. Even if she were fortunate to reach the Goblin City, there was still the Labyrinth to conquer, and it was doubtful she would be lucky to find her way through its deceitful passageways this time.

And this time she would have to do it by herself. She had no one to aid her, no comforting words or advice, nothing. And for the first time since awakening to this cruel nightmare, Sarah realized she was alone in every possible way one could be. And the realization was painful.

Escape was out of the question. She would have to accept defeat, and allow her enemy to overpower her and the remaining hope she harboured. The Goblin King had the winning cards this time, gaining everything from a providential hand. The gamble was lost to her, and she, had to submit her winnings—her life.

It sucked to lose in a dream, or better yet, in a dream of your own making. 

An unwilling smile materialized from the thought. It was strange to find her dark sense of humour at such a serious time. She had placed herself at the level of laughing at a funeral, not that she actually found joy in someone's death, but it was a fitting comparison, nonetheless.

Perhaps by accepting defeat, she would win and return home. Perhaps by losing, she would win the most important thing—her freedom from this nightmare. It could not hurt to cast her pride aside for once and see if the outcome would be different.

Biting her lower lip, Sarah conceded to her abrupt decision, and turned to the large, wooden bookcase. She eyed the dusty leather books in visible wonder. There was no doubt that these tomes were centuries old, the wear and appearance proved their authenticity. Rich, dark colours of burgundy, navy, and hunter green protected the fragile pages; gold lining displayed the titles.

At least there was one small comfort with being a prisoner; she had the opportunity to read. The fragile volumes may even hold valuable information about the Labyrinth and its inhabitants, or rather, a means of escape. 

A new spark of ambition filled her, and convinced her to not give in just yet. There was still a slim chance of defeating the Goblin King once again, and this time there would be no rematch. After this game, she would set aside this phantasmagoric delusion, and move on with her life. 

Grabbing the thickest volume from the shelf, Sarah turned to the vacant bed and sat on its velvety exterior. It was always comforting to relax on soft sheets and read. To Sarah, it was the closest thing to euphoric bliss. 

Her glazed eyes were filled with ardent hope that an answer laid within this book. She idly traced the gold letters, letters that were alien to her. With a moment's hesitation, she opened the navy tome, and began to read.

Letters, which were somewhat akin to the Elvish script one would find in Tolkein, filled every page. Her eyes squinted to read the small, delicate text. It was like comparing a set of arcane runes to the modern alphabet—damn well annoying and time consuming.

Her attempt to decipher the obscure text was in vain. She could find no comparison, no likeness between English and this foray of scribbled words. A deep sigh of despair filled the room as she closed the book and threw it near the edge of the bed. 

She shut her tired eyes, and rubbed her aching temples in a circular motion. Her futile effort wasted an hour's worth of her time, getting her no closer to freedom. She clenched her teeth in livid anger. The ass was probably watching her right now, laughing at her failure. He probably even placed that bookcase there to tempt her. 

Damn him. 

Damn the Labyrinth and all of its disgusting inhabitants to the dingy, utilitarian bowels of the Underworld. Their souls would find no peace of mind within the stygian depths of a pitiless hell. It would be a fitting punishment for them.

"And dare I dream a dream of all dreams," she muttered to herself. "Where I, would be a prisoner of mine own making."

Sarah closed her eyes in silent defeat. Turning her attention away from the bookcase, she retreated to the soothing embrace of velvet. She inhaled the faint scent of roses within the soft fabric; smiling from the small comfort it gave her. At least her prison had a few conveniences.

Her mind drifted in a sea of succor, as her awareness dimmed, leaving her oblivious to the world around her. Darkness clouded her vision, and an array of pleasant thoughts soothed her mind. Visions of achieving fame brought a smile to her ashen lips. The silence droned within her psyche, leaving her in a state of idyllic tranquility.

With her state of mind sated, Sarah fell into a peaceful slumber, the cares and worries about her situation were utterly…forgotten. 

****

"…It was the Greeks love of war that turned love in to a boy, and woman into a statue of stone, and away fled every joy," a voice muttered to the silence. 

Mismatched eyes stared at the prone form in the crystal bauble with deep intent. Dark strands of hair cascaded against the taupe satin sheets, contrasting the delicate fabric. Ivory skin was intertwined with the sheets, the soft ruffle seen but not heard through the crystal.

He turned his inequitable gaze away from the crystal, unable to control the unknown fury welling inside of him. It was not just anger he felt, but more of an unnamable feeling, emotion. 

It certainly wasn't adoration.

Jareth rolled his eyes at such a concept. Gods, it was bad enough to even watch the wench, let alone believe in something that wasn't there. Sarah was not kind, nor was she noble. 

She was just…Sarah—a little witch who took everything for granted. Oh, he watched his adversary from time to time, seeing if her life was as miserable as his. Did she regret her actions? Did she feel any remorse for anything? No, she merely believed her childish actions were figments of her imagination.

Imagination. 

He snorted at her foolish confidence. It would be a pleasure to shatter her last strand of faith. She believed in thought and in reason. People in the human realm were truly mindless moralists that assumed they understood everything—even things they could not explain.

The Dark Ages were certainly good times, he silently mused. People in that era believed in things they could not see or explain, having a deep conviction—and respect—for the unknown. But that was long ago, and blissfully before the Age of Reason.

Age of Reason. Ha! What did that period prove other than an uprising of revolutions and growing infatuation of cutting upon rotting corpses? Versalius was revered to be the Father of Modern Medicine, when he was nothing more than a grave robber. People reveled in having godlike power, destroying others with radiation and bio-chemical diseases. Sarah's world would soon be a wasteland—much like his.

It seemed that the irony could be cut with a dull knife, seeping its plaguing wound into a dead river, and carrying it to the edge of an endless void, filling it but never to the brim. 

He watched her once more, the sad undertones within her expression revealing a weaker version of the woman—girl—he once knew. He watched the rise and fall of her chest; the sudden shudder caused by a slight chill, the small tremble of her lips, and even the silent tear falling from a closed eye. 

She blamed him for placing her into this situation, for teasing her with the useless books, for making her his captive. A disinclined smile breached his pallid lips. Oh, it had been humourous to see her frustration, her ire when she could not read the faerie script. 

Truly, the books had lay idle there for decades. And yet, he had not intentionally sought to tempt her with them. Sarah would be even angrier with him if she actually knew what were in those ancient texts… Better saved for another day, he thought. 

Angering her was wonderful, but some things needed to be saved when the moment was right. In this case, sometime when his adversary least expected it. Catching Sarah off guard was truly something to look forward to. It would be interesting to throw metaphorical punches at one another once more.

Once more.

The thought of a rematch was both bitter and sweet. Bitter, where he lost the first round, but sweet in the knowledge that she would fall faster and harder than he did. Sarah's loss would be like tasting sweet ambrosia from a silver chalice. Perhaps losing the battle was worth winning the war, and by the gods he would have his enemy's cry of defeat ring throughout his kingdom. 

Sarah would fall.

And with her defeat, he would save his kingdom—no matter the cost.  

His revelation was set, and only Death would break him from it. He smiled at the irony of such a trivial aspect. The Fae seldom succumbed to such a fate; only in myths were his ancestors affected, and that was only in rare occasions—if at all. No, his kind never fell victim to the bitter sting of mortality. 

And that was why the Fae detested the weaker, mortal race of Men. How could an immortal, whose youth and vitality could outlast the ages compare to a weak, insignificant being that aged and inevitably, died? 

Most scorned the mentioning of such a pestilence, which consumed and tainted the world above. Man and the great society he created through strength and intelligence. Bah! The Height of Industry and the Modern World could make the smallest troll wretch with unrepentant ire.

Man congratulated himself too much upon less-than-average achievements. Oh, if only humanity realized that they were so insignificant compared to their immortal predecessors. Technology would dim in comparison to magic, their cities a picture of decay compared to the illustrious beauty of the Silver City.

The realms beyond the Labyrinth held beauty, laughter, and music. His distant cousins—along with myriad unrelated acquaintances—dwelled within a realm of lavish parties and unending intrigue. The social events, the scandals, everything appealed to the Fae. 

If he could compare the Fae to humanity, he would have to admit that both races were very similar during the Regency Era in Europe, where good breeding, land, and titles were what made a man. Connections with the right individuals allowed one to enter the social arena, and become someone worth merit. 

Alas, he was not so fortunate to be part of that realm—he abandoned that long ago…

Biting his lower lip, he cast his morose thoughts aside, and gazed at the crystal once more. Sarah lay in the same position, unmoving. He noticed a slight frown upon her brow, the setline on her mouth proved she was not content in her rest.

She was still wearing the same garment from her world. The wrinkled fine-linen shirt clung to her slim form, the knee-length skirt caressing her upper thigh. Jareth mentally rolled his eyes. Even unconscious, Sarah could be indecent.

An impish gleam lightened his dark eyes, as a vile plan brewed within his mind. He forced the crystal to disappear, as he, too, vanished within a cloud of violet smoke. 

The pursuit of unnerving the royal hell out of his adversary was about to begin.

****    

The feeling of desolation crashed against her beleaguered form, forcing her to succumb to its endless torment. Darkness clouded her vision, leaving her blind and vulnerable to an unknown enemy. Like the harsh pain entering her soul, the darkness inundated her, infecting her essence with an indescribable wickedness.

She felt tainted, impure. The dark possession of her soul left her grave, as if she were lost to the Fates' devious designs. She imagined the ancient sisters and their arcane methods of punishing mortals. 

With their serrated, metallic scissors, the siblings severed the precious silver cord that bound a soul to its body. They were masters of tormenting the living, deciding who to take, and who to cause grief. Death was their messenger, leaving him to finish the chore. 

Her useless eyes tried to penetrate the opaque darkness, but failed. She inclined her head, feeling shame well up inside of her. She felt like she was five again, helpless and frightened with no hope of anyone rescuing her from the darkness. 

Unwanted memories flashed through her mind's eye. A child no more than five, confined in a dark corner of a closet, tears running rampant from her hazel eyes. No light penetrated the vast void of darkness, only eerie sounds outside the barrier dared to pierce the shadows.

Voices filled with hatred and anger chanted in a harsh mantra of rage. The lighter, more feminine voice subjugated its oppressor with petitions of wrath, while the other calmly threatened its decrees.

It was almost indiscernible to understand the muffled conversion. The only understanding was that both parties were arguing over something, something important, something related to her.

Another tear fell from a hazel eye, as a sudden sense of remorse filled her tiny soul. She caused this argument. And now her parents were dealing with the consequences… 

Why couldn't she have stayed in her room, and been a good little girl like her mother said to be? Why did she have to walk in and see her mother kissing a man who wasn't her father? And why did she have to tell her father the moment he walked through the door? Why was she such a terrible daughter?

Inclining her head in silent defeat, she shut out the world around her, and fell asleep, only to find comfort in her dreams. 

The vision of imaginary creatures from her beloved storybooks came to life, and gave her solace when the rest of the world left her in the cold, dark world in which she lived. 

Rolling fields expressed their verdant splendour with a myriad of wildflowers. The sky was a deep azure, and the sun was bright, radiant. The warmth of the sun's vibrant rays caressed her pallid cheeks, as a light trail of wind teased her hair. She felt sweet abandon from this remote field, where she was far away from the pains in her life.

Sarah hesitantly smiled because of the artificial comfort, a smile, which ended as something—or someone—jerked her away from the sweet reverie, and back into the real world.              

"Sarah."

She felt her name echo within her mind, the harsh, yet gentle utterance shattering her sense of control. Tensing as a pair of gloved hands clasped her shoulders, she forced her eyes to stay shut, to not gaze upon her captor. 

"Sarah, look at me."

Again, her name came out like a soothing, tender whisper. Ah, yes, his majesty could mask his irritation wonderfully, so wonderfully that she was tempted to submit to his placid command.

Restraint filled her, pleading for her not to obey. The last fragment of pride forced her to play out her artful bravado, perhaps even compel him to leave. Triumph coursed through her soul the moment she felt his gloved hands leave her shoulders. 

"I refuse to play this game, my dear," Jareth murmured in her ear. "Open your eyes."

But to no avail, she refused him. He frowned at this small display of arrogance. Sarah had enough audacity for two people, he faintly mused. She reminded him of…him. No wonder they were always at a stalemate, a stalemate, which could never be breached.

Pity.

He sighed, leaving the bed. "And to think I was going to let you out of this prison. Apparently, you want to stay here with me."

"What?"   

Jareth turned a fraction, his blue eye meeting a pair of enlarged hazed emerald. "Why I was going to be civil, and release you, of course." He spoke to her, as if humouring an idiot. "What did you think I was here to do?"

"You're lying," she muttered under her breath. "You hate me, and you want to torment me until the day I die!"

Clutching his chest in synthetic shock, Jareth stepped away from her. "Such a harsh judgment, Sarah," he addressed with mock hurt. "I'm deeply hurt to know how cruel you believe I am." 

She tilted her chin. "I bet you are."

"Why do you hate me so?" he questioned, his back turned to her. "What have I ever done to make you detest me?"

"What have you done?" Sarah gave an unladylike snort of disbelief. "You captured my brother; made me go through a damned labyrinth to find him; almost had me killed; drugged me, and then after I defeat you, you come back for revenge! Why?"

"Revenge?" Jareth turned, and stared at her with icy, mismatched eyes. "Yes, you could say that. Considering the fact that you asked me to take your brother, and make your wildest dreams come true. I did everything to please you, and you threw it in my face!" He cast his gaze to the stone floor. "We've had this conversation before, I believe. I refuse to be repetitious."

"You still haven't answered why."

"Why?" He mimicked her, his deep voice edgy and tinged with ice. "It's rather simple, actually. It may be petty of me to desire revenge, but you are no saint yourself. You carelessly destroyed the Labyrinth, and now it's time for you to make amends. Do you remember when I said that all you had to do was fear me, and I would your slave?"

He did not give her time to answer. "Well, whether or not you fear me, you _are_ my slave. You will do everything I tell you. Starting now."

Sarah bit her lower lip. Rising from the bed, she forced herself to his side. Smiling sweetly, she muttered, "Your highness, you can kiss my ass!" She did not stop after uttering the blithe comment, but sealed it with a small kiss on the side of his cheek.

She watched his mocking grin fade, his teasing eyes glaze over with consummate ire. Oh, he was pissed! Royally, in fact. Turning, she gracefully walked away from his enraged form. Perhaps her refusal would make him realize how hard she would make her stay. But her delight diminished the moment she felt his powerful-gloved hands grasp her shoulders.

The unexpected force caused her to stumble, and fall to her knees. Staring at the stone floor for comfort, Sarah refused to look at him. She felt the anger radiating from his tense figure, and knew her actions caused his fury. God, why couldn't she keep her damned mouth shut for once? Didn't her past, reckless actions teach her anything? 

"You look good in that position. So good in fact that from now on you'll stay in it!" His boots clicked heavily against the stone tiles. "This room is far too customary for a lady such as yourself. I believe the servants' quarters will be sufficient for one of your exquisite taste, don't you think?"

Sarah refused to answer.

"Still so prideful, I see." He gazed at her flaccid figure with disdain. "Why must you be so stubborn in everything? There will be no peace, no understanding between us? Such a pity." 

And with that, he turned away from her, as if she were nothing more than a pile of discarded ash upon the floor. He eyed her warily, watching her unmoving form. Why did she have to be so obstinate, so willful? Why couldn't she just bend to his will and submit? It would be easier if she did. Of course, Sarah was never compliant, and her hasty actions spoke volumes of her.

His cheek still tingled from her spiteful kiss. The thousand stinging sensations—both pleasurable and painful—caused him to falter in her wake. No, he refused to fall for that foolishness again. Whatever his comical intentions for her were, were now cast aside, his purpose serious. 

If Sarah desired to spite him with such grace, then by the gods he would put an end to it. She always played the part of a selfless martyr, or courageous heroine. It was time to let her play that part and realize her pitiful display of valor was nothing more than a childish notion.

Glancing at her once more, he retreated to the doorway. With deep reluctance, he opened the locked door, and finally spoke, "Sarah, come with me." He turned to the threshold, willing the torches in the corridor to light. "Don't force me to repeat myself, child."

Sarah coerced herself to look at him. Deep, impenetrable anger coursed through the verdant depths, as she scanned his backside. Forcing herself to rise, she bit back an oath and walked to the door. "I'm not a child," she grumbled.

A golden brow arched in question. "Oh, really? Well, you are compared to my age, _child_."

"Better a child than a geriatric."

A deep, rich laugh filled with cynicism escaped him. "A child with an extended vocabulary. Who would have thought? Really, Sarah, you do surprise me at times…" He chuckled, and gently caressed her cheek.

Sarah flinched from his gentle touch; the audacity behind it turned her stomach. "Don't touch me!" 

"There is nothing wrong with a master comforting his scorned servant. Besides, I very much doubt anyone would come to your aid and throw me in a prison for such a small act. There are worse things, Sarah," he muttered gravely.

Something akin to despair tainted his eyes, forcing him to look away from her. Sarah watched as if transfixed by the sudden change in him. The sense of dejection resonated from him; showing weakness, despair. Before she could probe further, he interrupted her inquisitive thoughts.

"Come with me." 

He did not give her time to refuse. Clasping her clammy hand in his, he ushered her down the frosty corridor. She watched helplessly as he guided her through a maze of hallways, forcing her to follow like a second shadow. 

Sarah did not risk a glance at her new master. The idea of being his slave still troubled her weary mind. Instead, she focused upon the castle's architecture. The gothic designs corroborated well with the colourful tapestries and furnishings. She realized for the first time that Jareth's castle was truly beautiful. It was a shame she did not notice it on her first visit.

Her mental wonderings came to an abrupt halt when she almost collided against his stern back. She forced her eyes to look at the floor and not at his questioning gaze. His abnormal eyes seared her flesh, as if burning her with a blazing torch, her skin becoming black and turning to ash. 

Jareth stared at her intently, his steady gaze probing her restless figure. He knew he intimidated her, he could see it in her downcast expression. Although her stoic mask did not convey unease, her haunted eyes did. 

She feared him.

A mental smile curved his lips. This slip of a girl was afraid of him, of what he could—would—do to her. She feared for her safety, her life, and her innocence. He could corrupt her soul and send her to an everlasting stay in the fiery depths of Hell. 

God, it would be a pleasure to damn her to such a fate—a fate, in which, she had damned him to.

For three years she placed him in an endless hell, where he endured more than that of flames and demons. No, Sarah left him in this dark, deadened void without a slant of light to calm his weary soul. She condemned him to suffer, when he only sought to please her.

Well, here she was, in a hell of her own making, and it felt so sweet to see her suffer as he had. Sarah did not even understand the meaning of suffering. No, not when she was loved, comforted, and cared for by a doting family. Even the stepmother got along with her. 

Sarah had everything, whilst he had nothing, nothing except for a broken-down kingdom, and an idiotic court of goblins. No one was ever concerned for his welfare. Not even as a child…

Impatience wracked his nerves, forcing him to display a moment of unprecedented indignation. Sarah watched; eyes mesmerized by his lack of composure. He looked so frustrated, so tangible, as if he were almost human. But it was a lie, a brilliant façade in which he sported in, taunting and tormenting his unsuspecting victims. No, the Goblin King would be nothing more than the cruel, malevolent being he was. 

He took pleasure of seeing her in pain.

He would torment her if he witnessed her lose the last of her confidence. He would tease her for being so naïve. And he would callously laugh at her tears, all of which she deserved, and also prompted him to do.

Action and reaction; cause and effect. She brought this upon herself. And now, she would suffer the consequences of her rash actions, whether they were intentional or not.

"Ah, here we are," he said in a dry tone, shattering her thoughts.

Jareth turned, giving her a quizzical look. "Is there something on my face, or do you find it appealing?"

He had the audacity to smirk. Sarah cast her attention to the open doorway. Inside it, she noticed the room was in complete darkness, not even a small candle penetrated the dense obscurity.

"What is this place?"

"Ah, I see you're changing the subject on me. Not fair, Sarah."

"And here I thought I was the only one repeating myself! It appears you also find the world unfair to your high standards."

He conventionally rolled his eyes. "I was alluding to you, dear. Of course, I do not find everything fair, but at least I accept it without complaint. Unlike some…"

"Your blows are harsh, Goblin King. Thank you for trying to humour me." She turned and eyed the room once again, a tired and wary expression clouding her features.

"I wasn't trying to. Really, I don't desire to pass off as being considerate—or God forbid, kind."

"There's not one kind bone in your body…or whatever you're made out of. Fairy dust, perhaps?"

"Cute. Very cute, Sarah." Jareth smiled, revealing a pointy set of teeth. "And so close with your guessing. I must commend you for it." He paused for a moment, tapping the edge of his stubborn jaw with a gloved finger. "But you have only observed a portion of me. Well, the portion obscured, anyway." He caught her wan hand in his, feeling a slight tremble from it. "Where would your analysis go if you were enabled to venture further?"

Nothing was said between them, as the question was left within the cool air. Sarah's eyes widened, her cheeks slightly flushed. But she refused to give him the benefit of seeing her falter from such an overconfident statement. Mirroring his cheeky smirk, she laughed. "I would go blind from such a _marvelous_ sight, my lord. Truly! Besides, I very much doubt I would have such an honour since I'm merely a slave to you. Trash, really."

"That you are." He gave her no indication whether he honestly agreed with her or not. His vacant expression revealed nothing, except that he briefly considered her words. 

"So this is where I'm staying," she muttered, trying to break the growing tension between them.

He gave a curt nod.

"Then I shall be here if you need me." She gave him not time to answer. Instead, she walked blindly into the dark room, carefully feeling around for the nearest wall. She stepped on—or rather in something. Silently grimacing, she trudged on, forcing herself not to appear apprehensive in front of him.

Jareth watched her, eyes steady. He noticed her step in some unknown residue, left over by the kitchen staff. She would have a jolly time cleaning the gunk off of her shoes. 

He watched her try to gather her barrens. Gods, how she refused to look like an ass in front of him! Even in uncertainty, she had to save face, and rival him. 

But she already had—ten times over, in fact.

Sarah did not have to bowl him over with her careless actions; her words were enough. He was still considering her meaning about being a slave. It was merely a jab to his pride, but the intensity behind it left him in deep reflection. 

It did not matter.

Setting his dark thoughts aside, he forced light into the dense room. Tapers on the center table and hanging chandelier, lighted instantaneously from his mental command.  

Her watched her expression change from sweetly bemused to absolutely horrified. A gasp escaped her the moment she set eyes on her surroundings. This could not be the servant's quarters; this had to be Hell.

Grime covered the sandstone tiles. Rich, deep colours of greens, browns, and even a hint of puce covered them, leaving to one the imagination of what they looked like underneath the filth. 

Cobwebs hung like decourated tapestries, the dead, entrapped insects giving an added effect. But the deceased décour was only an opening presentation of the foully attractive eating hall. The table was the center attraction.

She frowned from the very sight of it. Molded remains of food, spilled wine, which had soured and stained the table, and unidentified pieces of fur and hair graced the table's surface. 

"Oh my God," she heard herself murmur.

"This is where my court dines. Fabulous setting, is it not?" A golden eyebrow arched in query.

"How can _you_ eat here?" She asked, before she could stop herself.

"Why, Sarah, don't you find this hall to your liking? Really, I thought you would find it extravagant, compared to that boorish setting I had you in."

She eyed him circumspectly. "You are so cruel."

He smirked. "I told you I could be. Now you see that I was not lying."

"…I hate you."

"I know. But try to at least appreciate that I did not toss you into an oubliette, or some other terrible location." He glanced at the table, and nodded. "And to answer your question, I don't dine with my servants. In fact, I rarely eat."

She studied his severe gaze, which was a mixture of indifference and honesty. And yet, his expression remained impassive. How could he be so austere, so stoic? Of course, he had been in existence for centuries, possibly eons. He was bound to have acquired the skill to remain inscrutable.

Nodding in agreement, she turned her attention back to the hall. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must retire for the evening, I fear."

He regarded her silently. "There is a door to your left. In it you will find a small room, which should have a small bed. Of course, I have not been in this room in fifty years, so I cannot attest to the room's conditions." Turning away from her, his hand clasped the doorknob. "I will leave you now. Goodnight."

Before she could say anything, the Goblin King was gone. She felt a strange sensation of disappointment from his abrupt departure. Of course, it was only disappointment in not taking a bottle of soured wine and dumping it all over his gaudy attire. 

The Goblin King was such an asshole.

Sarah emitted a profound curse from the thought of him. God, he was so arrogant, not to mention having the audacity of a wild boar. His Highness could toss himself into the nearest fire and burn like a martyr for all she cared. Look where he tossed her. She would gladly take an oubliette any day.

But this was her room now, and she would have to make due with it. She would accept this hand she was dealt. 

She found herself walking to the door he had indicated. Looking at its stained features, she grasped the rusted bronze handle, and opened it. 

"Damn it," she cursed. "Damn him for making me stay in this hovel!"

She eyed the dilapidated room with remote disdain. It was not as bad as the dining hall, but it was terrible, nonetheless. Dust covered what little furniture the room offered, the bed looked to be in dire need of repair, its sheets were dirty, wrinkled. A prison cell would be better than this. 

Massaging her aching temples, Sarah crossed the damp room, instantly smelling the faint scent of mold. With a clenched hand, she wiped the dust and rubble from the sheets and eased herself on the bed. 

She waited for the bed to buckle underneath her, but found it sturdy enough for her weight. Exhaling, she fell back on the sheets, refusing to move under them. She closed her eyes, and for a brief moment, she could see herself in her apartment, sleeping under familiar sheets.

A smile caressed her lips from the warming thought. Home. Yes, she could feel its warmth and proverbial surroundings, not a nightmare she unwillingly stumbled into. Oh, and what a nightmare it had been! Who would have thought one could feel so tangible, so realistic?

"You're such an idiot, Sarah," she scolded herself. "Your insane fantasies have finally caught up with you! And to think, you believed it to be real, when it's nothing more than a dream!"

Her smile instantly faded when she felt the bed falter and collapse, knocking the breath of out her. Unwilling tears fell from her eyes, displaying a sliver of weakness. 

Yes, what a dream this was… 

****

Author's Note: Well, here's Chapter Four! And to think I got this posted before the year was out! I believe I'm doing better on not being so neglectful—not to mention the chapters are a little longer! Anyway, many thanks to those who have read this fic so far! Chapter Five should be posted soon—when I have time to write, that is! Oh, and Happy Holidays to everyone, too! ^_^ 

**Faraday: Many thanks! I'm glad you like the fic so far!**

**Jessie Deal: I shall continue until I have an extreme writer's block, or actually finish it—the latter, which I personally hope happens! I've kept this story on the shelf for so long… ^_^**

**LadyRhiyana: I'm happy you remember this story! It's so fun to write embarrassing thoughts that no one else would know, and yet, the reader does! And Jareth has *much* in store for Sarah, trust me!**

**Kali: Thanks! I can only hope my writing improves. I look over my chapter and silently shake my head in dismay. I'm truthfully my own worst critic, because I'm usually not happy with it… More's the pity… But flawed or not, I will continue this story! =)**

**Nocturnally-Damned: I hope I didn't make you wait too long for the chapter. There is great tension between them, and it's so wonderful, is it not? ^_^ It's probably one of the best parts to write in this story. I just hope it does not become too repetitious…**

**Achesilvestri: Just as I promised, here it is! I hope you like how I portrayed Jareth in this chapter! It's a great pleasure portraying him to be such a royal asshole!  I can promise there will be more arrogance and cruel remarks along the way! **

**Again, thanks guys for reading and reviewing! ^_^**


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